


A Monster's Mate Never Rests

by hegottooclose



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Blood Magic, Body Horror, Bottom Will Graham, Cannibalism, Canon-Typical Violence, Dark Magic, Inspired by Frankenstein, M/M, Necromancy, Necrophilia, Post-Fall (Hannibal), Resurrection, Rimming, Top Hannibal Lecter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-24
Updated: 2019-09-24
Packaged: 2020-10-27 07:55:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20756951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hegottooclose/pseuds/hegottooclose
Summary: Will didn't survive the Fall. Hannibal wouldn't let him stay dead.





	A Monster's Mate Never Rests

Knuckles connected hard with his cheek, the ring on the middle finger digging in, taking with it skin cells – evidence, his mind told him, in case he didn't come back from this alive. A blink of black obscured his vision, a wisp of nightshade followed singularly by gray, then red.

He caught the next swing, slotted his fingertips between the grooves of knuckles, twisted back with a sharp _crack_ until he heard the little piggy crying all the way home. His foot found the vulnerable hollow beneath a kneecap, his heel ground down around fractured bones until contamination was no longer a risk, but a given.

And he kicked, to the thigh, to the stomach, to the chest. He held the little piggy's broken little wrist and sank his heel into the man's jaw and watched as blood welled up and spilled, and the man's beady, rodent-like little eyes shimmered with tears, and watched as his skull went from convex to concave under the force of his blows, splattering like spilled paint on the concrete.

A hollow skull for a hollow man. His lips twitched in a smile that would make kerebos think twice about approaching. With tired arms and a loud huff, he hoisted the carcass over his shoulders, carrying him like the olden men carried lambs across high rivers, and waded his way out of the alley and towards the running car with the open trunk.

His journey was not far, but stretched for eons, impatience brightening the glare of brake lights and making the stoplight traffic linger for years. A car accident took an age to navigate. The speed limits that were strictly upheld in this neighborhood made him think he would have been better off walking, if not for the cargo.

He aged a year in the trek from parking spot to front door alone, and knocked below the brass handle, before letting himself in.

He found his love just as he'd left him, laid out along the table like the finest offering. A smile graced his lips as he approached the head of his prone, lifeless beloved – still blue in the mouth, still so very pale. He leaned down to place a gentle kiss on those soft lips, dragged his nose up to nuzzle ruffled, unruly hair.

"I brought you a present," he murmured, and there was no answer, just as there had never been an answer. It mattered not. He returned to his car and hefted the body onto his shoulders again, relying on the mediocre streetlights, the one he'd disabled in front of his house, to uphold the darkest shadows and give him cover to prowl inside. He set his newest guest at the final spot, amidst the others. Now, in a ring around his table, was a veritable gathering of pigs, all of them missing some part of themselves that had made them alive, that had once held their soul. A woman with her ribs spread open, her lungs taken. A man with his intestines slithering from him like dead snakes. Another with his eyes missing, his lips stretched out in a macabre smile so that he could take the teeth.

The final man was here to give his last offering – a heart. He took his saw in hand and cut off his bashed-in head, baring slick muscles oozing blood and plasma like a stoppered fountain. He slit down the corpse's throat and pushed in with his hand, past collarbones and esophagus, and took a gentle hold of his heart, prying it free and cutting it loose.

His beloved's own chest was open, the patchwork of his insides laid out like a child's sculpting attempt. He placed the heart inside the open cavity with a gentle, loving touch, sewed the veins and arteries, pulmonary vein and aorta into place. Then, careful as ever, he pushed the ribs together and bound them with sterile cord, until they would be able to hold his lungs and heart as easily as they did in life.

He sewed up his chest, making sure nothing had been dislodged or succumbed to rot while he was away – but of course, his beloved was still perfect, and bathed in the brash light of his dining room, he shone, a hollow vessel ready to breathe new life.

He smiled, and placed another kiss to his love's brow, his skin clammy and cold. His fingers pushed through his hair, slick with blood, guiding it away from his face. The final piece – reattaching the head to the neck. His hands were steady, precise and capable as he sewed him back up, the final stitch knotted and snipped at the base of his lovely throat.

The ocean had not been kind to him, but there was something to be said for the ability of salt to preserve dead flesh.

He cast his eyes upon the gathered men and woman, and gave them each a wide, thankful smile. "You will live on," he told them, secure in the knowledge that, come morning, his beloved would breathe new life and return to the waking world. "I will honor each and every one of you, we both will."

There was one more thing to do. He carefully rolled his beloved to his belly, tucking his hands to his sides so that he did not dirty himself amongst the pigs, and he climbed upon the table, settling himself over his thighs. A series of ritualistic runes were carved down his spine, purple and cold with his lack of life, and he sighed, leaning down to kiss each one, before his mouth found the plump, chilled center. He spread his beloved wide and licked at him, curious at his lack of taste – not even death could touch him here, could make him any less lovely in his eyes.

He pulled back once there was enough wetness that he wouldn't tear, knowing the laxness of his empty body would grant him easy entry. He wiped his hands through his beloved's hair, and worked two bloody fingers into his mouth, giving him the lifeblood that would fuel him when he woke. His other hand easily parted his clothes and freed his cock, and he gripped with strong thighs, jaw tensing as he stroked himself to hardness.

He pressed his free hand to the bottom-most rune, the one that would absorb life-giving seed and blossom within his beloved, and curled his nails around it as he forced his cock inside. He was gripped tightly, muscles reluctant to part – just as reluctant, he thought with fondness, as his love had been to accept the darkness within himself for so long. The table creaked beneath the force of his thrusts, and he leaned down to kiss the runes on his beloved's back, gripping his shoulders tightly to keep him still.

The body jolted as he moved, the table with it, the corpses watching on in eager anticipation.

He finished with a grunt, too-long denied his love's sweetness, the taste and scent of him. He would recover that soon, he knew. He spilled deep into his love and sighed, nuzzling his hair, smiling when, beneath his belly, the runes began to grow warm.

He waited inside him until the body jolted again, this time completely of its own accord. A guttural, harsh noise escaped his beloved's bruised lungs, his fingers twitched and clawed, instinctively, at the edges of the table. His back arched, and he whimpered, coughing up a thick string of bile, sour-smelling, onto the table.

He shushed him, petting through his hair again. "Relax, Will," he murmured, for now that he had finally returned, he could bear to utter his name once more. Beneath him, Will moaned again, a wretched sound of pain, and rutted his forehead into the slick puddle he'd coughed up.

"_Hannibal_," he murmured, and in speaking his name, Hannibal allowed himself to accept it, allowed it to once again become him – not the Ripper, not a wendigo, not the monster in the night. Hannibal. He smiled, petting Will's strong shoulders, over the patchwork of borrowed skin, and gripped his hips tightly as he pulled out, a thick trail of semen following his flaccid cock.

He tucked himself back in and rose from the table, circling to Will's head, and took his cheeks in gentle hands, crouching down so he could see Will's eyes. They were Will's eyes, despite being taken from someone else, for only Will could manage that fierce light, that sharp-edged awareness, that animal that prowled within his skull and howled for blood.

Will blinked at him, gasping as his new lungs became used to breathing, a flush coming to his face as blood began to pump. He reached out blindly, gripped Hannibal's collar in a savage, desperate tug, and shivered, another plaintive noise escaping as Hannibal smiled at him.

"What happened?" he whispered.

"Did you think death would separate us so easily?" Hannibal replied, and leaned in to kiss Will's lax, gasping mouth. He was warm, now, growing more heated by the second as life returned to him. "I will not part from you for a thousand years."

Will's eyes grew unfocused, as he coughed and shuddered again, lifting himself onto one elbow with a wince. A snarl escaped him, that lovely light in his eyes flaring as he met Hannibal's adoring gaze. He blinked, head turning to gaze upon their gathered guests, that light turning black, and hungry, shining from him.

Hannibal smiled, and stood. "Eat, darling," he coaxed, and helped Will to the freshest corpse, watched with pleasure as Will's jaws parted and he began to devour the man, ripping a chunk of flesh from his shredded collarbone. The witch had warned him that death only knew death, and whatever he tried to resurrect would only know hunger for human flesh. It had taken all of Hannibal's self-control not to laugh at her, to tell her it would be no problem.

He watched Will eat. For every bite, his color returned, his hands stopped shaking, he grew steadier and more powerful by the moment. Hannibal leaned down, kissed his hair, and smiled when Will snarled at him, impatient to consume all he desired.

By the time Will collapsed, belly bloated and full, the man was little more than the clothes he came in. Hannibal smiled and took Will by the chin, kissed him to taste the fresh meat on his tongue, and let out a delighted sound when Will groaned and submitted to his kiss.

Will clung to him, growled and pushed himself upright so he was sitting on the table. He wiped his hand over his mouth, smearing the blood and viscera clinging to his lips, and licked them clean. His eyes were wide, a little less blue than they had been in his first life, but still just as beautiful, just as sharp with knowledge and recognition when he met Hannibal's gaze.

Hannibal smiled at him. "When you're feeling up to it, I shall teach you the ritual, and you can do the same to me," he promised. Will's head tilted, he pressed his lips together, lifted his chin.

"Or maybe I'll just leave you for dead," he said, in a way to make it not quite obvious whether he was teasing or not.

But it made Hannibal smile, and kiss him again. "If I am to end by your hand, it will be the sweetest reward I could fathom," he murmured, and Will's mouth twitched in a smile. Hannibal's hand settled over the knotted stitches around the base of his throat, and he leaned down to kiss over them, and added, "I submit myself readily to your design, for I know you will honor me."

Will nodded, and wetted his lips again – his tongue was his own, Hannibal would never dare remove it, and Hannibal could see the long scar across the top where the dragon's knife had slashed it open. He sighed, and rubbed his hand over his jaw, which must have ached from so much chewing after so long being immobile.

"I'd like to rest, first," Will murmured, and Hannibal nodded, helping him to his feet. He shed his coat and draped it across Will's shoulders, for now he was capable of becoming cold, and Hannibal had no intention of seeing him shiver with anything other than pleasure. "I'll kill you in the morning."

Hannibal laughed. "Of course, my beloved Will. Of course."


End file.
